4. A brow was lifted, high and pure, A smile broke through the stone! 5. Beneath the chisel's edge, the hair And, plume by plume, was slowly freed 6. The stately bust and graceful limbs And where the shapeless block had been, 7. Oh, blows that smite! Oh, hurts that pierce 8. Oh, hope that crumbles at my feet! 9. Sculptor of souls! I lift to Thee 10. How blest, if all these seeming ills, EX XCI.-EXPRESSION OF THE EYE. YES are bold as lions-roving, running, leaping, here and there, far and near. They speak all languages; they wait for no introduction; they are not conventional-ask no leave of age or rank; they respect neither poverty nor riches, neither learning nor power, nor virtue, nor sex; but intrude and come again, and go through and through you in a moment of time. 2. What inundation of life and thought is discharged from one soul into another through them! The glance is natural magic. The mysterious communication established across a room between two entire strangers moves all the springs of wonder. The communication by the glance is, in the greatest part, not subject to the control of the will. It is the bodily symbol of identity of nature. 3. We look into the eyes to know if this other form is another self; and the eyes will not lie, but make a faithful confession what inhabitant is there. The revelations are sometimes terrific. The confession of a low, usurping devil is there made, and the observer shall seem to feel the stirring of owls, and bats, and horned hoofs, where he looked for innocence and simplicity. 'Tis remarkable, too, that the spirit that appears at the windows of the house does at once invest itself in a new form of its own to the mind of the beholder. 4. The eyes of men converse as much as their tongues, with the advantage that the ocular dialect needs no dictionary, but is understood all the world over. When the eyes say one thing, and the tongue another, a practical man relies on the language of the first. If the man is off his center, the eyes show it. You can read in the eyes of your companion whether your argument hits him, though his tongue will not confess it. There is a look by which a man shows he is going to say a good thing, and a look when he has said it. 5. Vain and forgotten are all the fine offers and offices of hospitality, if there is no holiday in the eye. How many furtive inclinations are avowed by the eye, though dissembled by the lips! One comes away from a company in which, it may easily happen, he has said nothing, and no important remark has been addressed to him; and yet, if in sympathy with the society, he shall not have a sense of this fact, such a stream of life has been flowing into him and out from him, through the eyes. 6. There are eyes, to be sure, that give no more admission into a man than berries; others are liquid. and deep wells that a man might fall into; others are aggressive and devouring-seem to call out the police-take all too much notice, and require crowded streets, and security of millions, to protect individuals against them. The military eye I meet, now darkly sparkling under clerical, now under rustic, brows 't is the city of Lacedæmon; 't is a stack of bayonets. There are asking eyes, asserting eyes, prowling eyes, and eyes full of fate-some of good, and some of sinister omen. 7. The alleged power to charm down insanity, or ferocity in beasts, is a power behind the eye. 'Tis very certain that each man carries in his eye the exact indication of his rank in the immense scale of men; and we are always learning to read it. A complete man should need no auxiliaries to his personal presence. Whoever looked on him would consent to his will, being certified that his aims were generous and universal. The reason why men do not obey us, is because they see the mind at the bottom of our eye. R. W. Emerson. XCII.-CAVALRY SONG. UR good steeds snuff the evening air, Each carbine send its whizzing ball: 2. Dash on beneath the smoking dome, Cling! clang! forward all! Heaven help those whose horses fall! 3. They flee before our fierce attack! They fall, they spread in broken surges! WHEEL! The bugles sound the swift recall: Home, and good night! E. C. Stedman. XCIII.-A. NIGHT WITH A STORK. FOUR OUR individuals-namely, my wife, my infant son, my maid-of-all-work, and myself-occupy one of a row of very small houses in the suburbs of London. I am a thoroughly domestic man, and notwithstanding that my occupation necessitates absence from my mansion between the hours of 9 A. M. and 5 P. M., my heart is generally at home with my diminutive household. 2. My wife and I love regularity and quiet above all things; and although, since the arrival of my son and heir, we had not enjoyed that peace which we did during the first year of our married life, yet his juvenile, though somewhat powerful, little lungs had as yet failed in making ours a noisy house. Our regularity had, moreover, remained undisturbed, and we got up, went to bed, dined, breakfasted, and took tea at the same time, day after day. 3. We had been going on in this clock-work fashion for a year and a half, when, one morning, the postman brought to our door a letter of ominous appearance, and, on looking at the direction, I found that it came from an old, rich, and very eccentric uncle of mine, with whom, for certain reasons, we wished to remain on the best of terms. "What can uncle Martin have to write about?" was our simultaneous exclamation, and I opened it with considerable curiosity: 4. "Martin House, Herts, Oct. 17, 1857. “DEAR NEPHEW : "You may, perhaps, have heard that I am forming an aviary here. A friend in Rotterdam has |